Of Weddings And Wine
by Sparrow Quill
Summary: The sequel to The Rain Cant Hurt Me Now
1. Ch1

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Of Weddings And Wine

Disclaimer: I do not own Jack Sparrow, Will Turner, or any other Pirates of the Caribbean characters used or mentioned in this story. I claim ownership only of Aletté Malycho, Morgan Land, Meryl Volleys, and the few other characters of my own creation.

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Author's Note: This is the sequel to "The Rain Cant Hurt Me Now." Like many of my stories, it can stand alone. But if you're a big W/E fan, know that Elizabeth remarried after her and Will had a bit of a falling-out. Will met Aletté, who was in line for the throne but abdicated to become simply a courtier, and they eventually fell in love. Will returned home for a few months (under Aletté's advice) with Elizabeth to be with his son (now one year old, named Jack, or Jacky.) If this has confused you then you should read the latter mentioned story to understand it. But if you already have (or will- it's pretty short!) then just know that this is meant as a more light-hearted story. It's Will/OC, and the plot is really just an undertone to the intended humour.

Chapter One:

Aletté Malycho stood upon her sprawling stone terrace amongst the waxy green trailing terracotta plants, eyes fixed on the sea, a cool mist of rain hanging in a dense fog around her.

It had been five months, and still no word. Aletté did not go a day without wondering. What was hindering him? What was taking so long? The winds were in his favour- every day a good gust to sail on, and no gales to speak of just yet. So, indeed, was his transport- sailing under the command of the finest pirate captain, on the fastest ship in the Caribbean. He had promised to return in three months. Now, five months later, there was still no sign of him.

She wondered what had happened. Had they been attacked? Had they capsized? Was he even alive? Perhaps Elizabeth was keeping him, making him stay longer than he had expected… and perhaps, she thought with a sinking heart, he wasn't coming back. Perhaps he had lied to her about everything…

No.

Not Will. Never Will. Not he who had so many times saved her life, not he. Not he who seemed to have never told a lie in all his days, oh no. Not he, not he, not he…

But perhaps.

It was an unfavourable trait to the wretched young girl, this mistrust of men. Unfavourable, perhaps, but not unjustified. At fourteen, a mere three days after the death of her mother, she was cornered by her sinister landlord and asked for the rent money. Aletté sought out her mother's inheritance. There was none. This, the sad dependence of our human society on money, pushed Aletté into something more horrible than she had ever dreamed. She was forced into selling herself.

It is a long tale of how she eventually dragged her sorry self out of this rut of sin and debauchery and came upon one William Turner, and the reader will thus be spared the tedious details of our heroine's past. But it was her days of mistreatment by what seemed like every man on this earth that was now ebbing on her mind, causing her to entertain ideas she would otherwise have shunned .

Her crumbling stone terrace in the tiny county Sierrbo, in Spain, overlooked the bay and port that Will would be sailing into. But the docks in Sierrbo were empty, save for a few lonely fishing boats, and Will was not by her side. He was taking too long...

The autumn breeze tousled Aletté's straight blonde hair and she turned to go back inside, slipping silently through the crushed velvet curtain that divided her apartments from her gardens and grounds. On that same terrace only five months ago Will had stood there, promising her he would return. And he hadn't.

A cruel November draft found it's way through one of her crumbling windows and snaked it's way around her slender, shivering form. She pulled open the doors of a bulky mahogany wardrobe and began to sort through her clothing for something warmer. She came upon a fur-lined kirtle, but the voluptuous curves it had been fitted for were not a trait of hers- no, by Spanish standards Aletté was quite homely- her hair was thin, poker-straight and fair, her eyes were a cool, icy shade of turquoise, unlike the warm brown eyes favoured by her court, and she was subject to an undesirable wiry figure that made her shoulder-blades literally feel like blades. In Britain this would have been quite charming- in Spain it was an accursed set of traits.

Aletté finally gave up and shrugged herself into an off-pink damask gown with a triple-layer of material that managed to banish her chills. She plunked down onto her dark, intricately-carved four-poster bed and sighed, blowing a puff of air up through pursed lips, sending her unruly hair fluttering about her eyelashes.

It had been her own choice not to have servants in her apartments, save for a few of the younger maids who came every so often to sweep the floor. Aletté had always found herself feeling horribly uncomfortable in their presence. This could partially be attributed to her gossiping dressmaker, whom, on more than one occasion, Aletté had overheard blabbing about how "small and frail" their newest courtier was, and wondering why on earth Will was marrying a girl whose "hips couldn't bear children even if the gods so decreed it."

Aletté chose to stay in her apartments as much as she could, only coming out for ceremonies and state dinners. King Rico would visit her occasionally, entertaining her with his somewhat senile rambles, but that was the extent of Aletté's human contact, unless one counts her few drab courtly lessons a viable form of socializing. And while she was busy fulfilling the role of royal recluse, her time was spent losing chess games with her mathematics tutor, stepping on her dance teacher's toes, and failing to drop to one knee with the appropriate grace for her dear impatient etiquette teacher. Apart from this, she would lie on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, sending flickering lights skittering across it with the reflections from her ring.

The latter mentioned activity was what she chose to occupy herself with at the time when this reader had just entered this tale. But dear, poor Aletté, who hardly ever got her way, (and had become accustomed to it) was not left to her own devices, but instead was rudely interrupted by a winded-looking girl-page who dashed into her room with little grace, ignoring the methods of "proper respect" which Aletté chose to ignore, but which her tutor though to be the backbone of the monarchy.

"Queen- um, Lady Malycho," The girl stammered, remembering just in time to use Aletté's proper title. Rumours that flew around the court about Aletté's lineage often misconstrued her title from simply 'Lady' to 'Queen.' Aletté was getting used to it. "There's a visitor waiting for you in your parlour. Shall I call him in, or will you receive him out there?"

Aletté yawned. "Tell him to address his concerns at the state dinner tomorrow night."

"But m'lady," The girl protested in a thick Spanish drawl, "he's traveled a great distance just to see you."

This perked Aletté's interest. "How great a distance?"

"Says he's come from down near Port Royal- that's all the way in the Caribbean, that is."

Aletté sprung up from her bed and raced to her closet, calling out, "You, girl, what's your name?"

The maid gulped nervously. "Ella."

"Ella, do me a favour, would you, dear soul?" The girl nodded. "Set out some cakes or tea or pastries- hell, just set out anything we have! And be a dear to kindle the fire in the hearth!" The serving maid turned to go. "Oh, and Ella? Do see to it that our guest is informed that I will receive him in the parlour shortly, will you?"

Aletté raced to her closet and shuffled through it, trying to find a gown more presentable than the rosy one she was currently robed in. Pink was, without a doubt, one of Aletté's worst colours. Her features tended to suit more blues and greens. She finally found a baby blue sateen dress with corseted sides and a plunging neckline. It had white sheer drape at the neck, and was very light and airy. It was a summer gown, but Aletté couldn't find anything else that fitted her figure that wasn't red or purple. She began to struggle into the gown, then immediately came to the realization that one needed a dresser in order to fit a corset properly. For a moment she considered calling Ella, but then thought the better of it; the serving maid was probably in the hall now, waiting on Will. And as Aletté had learned, it was horrible Etiquette to call a servant away from your guests.

She eventually gave up and re-dressed in her pink damask kirtle, grimacing at her pale appearance in the mirror. Her hair was stringy and undesirable, and the rosy gown made her eyes, which were usually quite breathtaking, seem tacky and undesirable. Part of her wanted to stay and toil further over her appearance, but she really just wanted to see Will, and she knew in her heart that he wouldn't care whether or not her eyes clashed with her gown. But she still wished everything could be perfect.

The doors to the parlour were made of wood with inlaid gold and silver. It was the metalworking on them that had fascinated Will, and he had whittled away his few minute's wait by studying the technique which was used to fashion them. But it had not yet occurred to his artisan soul that perhaps standing behind a door is not the most strategic of places to station oneself if one plans on keeping his nose intact. It was thus that Aletté, who burst through the door in a flurry of excitement, accidentally caused her fiancé a fair bit of pain.

Pain, you must understand, of more than just the heartache of lovers long-separated.

The door came in contact with Will's nose with a great crash, and the latter fell backwards, landing on his back with a decidedly painful thump. He winced in discomfort and squinted through slightly pain-impaired vision. Aletté crouched overtop of him, cooing apologetically.

"Oh Will, I'm so sorry, I didn't know- I mean, I thought you were- oh let me get that!" She pulled a handkerchief out from the folds of her kirtle and tried to stop the blood that now spouted from his nose. He cried out in pain as her hand touched it, being bloodied, though not broken. "Oh, I'm sorry!" Aletté recoiled. She had just made it worse. "Here." She held out the handkerchief.

He took it wordlessly and brought it up to his nose, gingerly placing it on the source of the blood. "Thank you." He managed to mumble, tilting his head back to stop the flow.

Aletté glanced around. "Ella?" The girl came bustling out of the pantry, carrying a tray laden with jam tarts and tea. "Oh, Ella, be an angel and fetch me one of those fluffy towels from the bathing room, would you?" She turned back to Will. "Oh dear, Will, I'm so sorry, I really didn't mean to-"

"Fine, it's fine." He struggled to his feet, still tilting his head back. Aletté hovered over him apologetically. She handed him the towel that Ella had just brought and took, while biting back the urge to gag, the completely soaked, once-white handkerchief she had just given him. Will stumbled to sit himself down on the couch, the blood flow beginning to subside.

"So, um..." Aletté tried nervously, "how was the voyage?"

"It was fine." Will said through the towel. "No storms."

"Anything interesting happen back home?"

"Uh-huh." He removed the towel gingerly, handing it to a concerned-looking Ella. The flow appeared to have stopped, though he kept his head tilted back for good measure. "Elizabeth had her wedding to that Jacobs man."

Aletté nodded agreeably, not wanting to raise the question of his lateness until he was fully recovered. "And Morgan?"

"She's coming along." He said, slowly bringing his head down again. "She's not due until December, though. Jack's thrilled. He's sure it'll be a boy."

"And baby Jacky?"

"Not a baby anymore." Will began to relax, confidant that his nose had adequately recovered. "He can skiff now- not by himself, but he knows how to steer. He likes Jacobs a lot." there was a note of bitterness in his voice. "Elizabeth had me stay an extra two months so that I could be there for her wedding. She said it was a special day for our son and that I should be present." He paused. Aletté appeared to be hearing this news for the first time. "I sent you a letter explaining it."

"I guess it was delayed." Aletté said.

"You didn't worry did you?"

"Not at all." She lied.

Their chatter was interrupted by Ella bringing the jam tarts and tea. These were joyfully receive by Will, who had eaten nothing but table water and biscuits for a month straight. Aletté watched in silence as he devoured them, then reached for the pot which held her lemon tea.

"Oh here, let me." She sprung up and grabbed the pot, pouring him a cup. When she went to hand it to him, however, their arms struck and the scalding liquid was dumped unintentionally over Will's chest. He winced.

"Oh no, Will..." Aletté stammered. This was not going well at all- she'd barely been with him ten minutes and already he'd been injured twice on her account. "Here, I'll-"

"No!" Will held up his hand to stop her from trying to help him. "No, no, that's fine, I'll manage by myself."

Aletté sat back down quietly. She turned her eyes to the marble floor. "I'm really not doing this on purpose, you know." She mumbled, trying to hide the colour that was rising in her cheeks.

"I'm fine." Will assured her, smiling. He stood up and made his way over to her, holding out his hand to her. "Come here."

She took it, and rose up to stand next to him. He took the stride necessary to bridge the distance between them, longing more than ever for her sweet kiss. His foot snagged on the leg of the coffee table, sending Will plummeting forward onto Aletté. They ended up sprawled out over the sofa, legs tangled, bodies slightly bruised.

The door to the parlour opened and Jack entered, raising his eyebrows at the sight of the pair in such a suggestive position on Aletté's red velvet sofa. He smiled. "Maybe I should just come back."

Will and Aletté both scrambled to their feet indignantly. "It's not what you think." Aletté assured him, rubbing her now-bruised back tenderly.

Jack let a suggestive smile slip across his lips, but he quickly changed his subject, though this new one was of little improvement. "My dear, luv, you're skinny as ever. No baby yet?"

Will and Aletté both frowned, the latter mentioned turning her confused eyes to an equally confused Will. "What's he talking about?"

"No baby?" Jack made his way into the room happily. "That's interesting." He swept Aletté a bow with more royal flourishes and ornamentations than even Aletté's etiquette tutor could manage. "You're highness."

Aletté laughed. "God's love, Jack, where did you learn to do that?" He shrugged. "Well, come on, tell me you brought Morgan with you this time!"

He shook his head. "No, luv, my apologies. She's eight months in. Thought I'd best not risk killing me unborn son."

"So sure it's a son?" Aletté asked.

"Aye."

Will, seemingly recovered from being smacked in the nose, drenched with scalding tea, and shoved headfirst onto a bulky sofa, smiled for the first time since Jack had entered. He turned to his beloved. "What's this I hear about a state dinner tomorrow night?"

Aletté laughed. "Oh, you wouldn't like those things- nasty, boring affairs, really. I'd rather sit through an hour's conversation with Jack." She giggled. "Honestly, though. No fun at all. Why don't you just stay here in my apartments?"

"Nonsense!" Will laughed. "Come on, lets go to the party- I'm sure it cant be bad as all that!"

"But Will-"

"Come on." He begged. "Please?"

"Well..."

"Puh-leez?" He pulled his big brown puppy-dog eyed stare at her and her heart melted.

She sighed. "Fine. But you're not going to like it."

He smiled, picked her up by the waist and spun her around. It was a bad idea. Will's foot snagged on one of the legs of the sofa and he stumbled backwards, Aletté falling to the ground beside him. He sat up, rubbing his neck, then turned his attention to Aletté, who was nursing a bruised ankle.

"Ouch!" She moaned. "Oh Will, my ankle!" He scooped her up in his arms, placing one arm behind her shoulders, the other under the back of her legs. He laid her down upon the chaise and examined her ankle closely. "Is it bad?" She asked fearfully.

"No." Will said, not looking up, entranced by the slimness and perfect proportion of her leg. "No, it looks fine... it looks perfect to me." He glanced up at her, and she giggled.

From the corner of the room, Jack rolled his dark eyes impatiently. "Any more of this bloody love drivel and I'll good as disgorge me breakfast." He grumbled.

"Oh get out of here if you're going to be that way." Aletté snapped, waving her hands to shoo him away. Jack swept her another bow, and was gone, leaving the room without so much as a word of goodbye.

Aletté and Will were together. Alone.

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	2. Ch2

Aletté glanced at Will, who was hovering over her ankle protectively. She smiled. "I missed you."

He slowly made his way up to her mouth, and their lips met briefly. "I love you."

Suddenly Aletté felt herself drawing close to him. She felt warmer when she was near him, needing to be touched by him, to touch him...

Her fingers nimbly found there way to his hands, whereupon she guided them to her breasts. "Will." She breathed.

He stared for a moment, before drawing his hand away. "Lets not."

"What?"

Will pulled himself back to a sitting position. "Lets wait."

"What?" Aletté couldn't believe this- a man turning down a chance to make love was something completely new to her. She didn't quite understand it. "Will, I want you to."

He turned his eyes to the braided rug on the floor. "It's not that, it's just... I shouldn't. We shouldn't, you-" He searched for the right thing to say. "We should wait until we're married."

"Why?" Aletté demanded. "I mean, you know I'm not a virgin, and you- you have a son for Christ's sake! What do you think we're preserving?"

He looked at her solemnly. "A relationship built on more than physical desire."

Aletté rolled her eyes. "For God's sake, Will, I just spent five months wishing for the sound of your voice. Your voice, Will, do you see what I'm saying?" She shifted over closer to him, her voice turning to a more pleading, honeyed tone. "We already have a relationship built on love. We do, Will, we really do. I missed you... I love you! Why shouldn't we?"

"Because this is what's right." He sounded so firm, so decided. Aletté doubted he could be swayed from his opinion. "It's not that I don't want you, Aletté... you have no idea how much I-" He caught himself. "But I just... I want to respect you."

"I already know you respect me!" She said. "I trust you, Will, I don't need marriage!"

"I do." He turned his deep brown eyes to hers, and Aletté felt as if he were staring right through her, right into her soul. "Just... trust me. Lets wait."

Aletté turned away. "It's not fair." She sulked.

"What's not fair?"

"Your eyes can make me do anything but I cant do anything to you." She blew a puff of air out of her pursed, pouting lips and sent her unruly hair fluttering wildly.

Will looked astonished. "You think you don't control me too?" A smile spread across her lips, wondering at how she couldn't even see the power she had over him. He especially loved when she was sad, the way she would whimper and bury her face in his shoulder, and then apologize for making such a big deal over something so small. "Aletté, you can dictate my every move."

She looked up, smiling a little. "Balderdash."

"Don't doubt the truth, Lady Malycho."

She giggled at his use of her formal title. Their lips met again, and then she pulled her body close to his, snuggling into him. "You're sure you want to marry me, Will?"

His arms engulfed her. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because..." Her voice throbbed with emotion. "Will, I think I should tell you everything. Now. Before you make any commitments."

"Everything?" He rested his chin on the crown of her blonde head. "What's everything?"

"I mean my past." She paused. "I think you should know about it... I want to tell you everything."

Will pondered this for a moment. Maybe it would be good for her to tell him. More for her than for him. Personally he didn't care what was in her past- all that mattered was her, here, now, that was who she was. That was the woman he loved. Her past didn't matter. But it seemed to matter to her. "Tell away."

Aletté closed her eyes, took a deep breath and began.

"When I was fourteen my mother died of consumption. I needed money, needed rent money, see. There wasn't anything, any kind of job I could get- not in Singapore, not for a woman. So I-" She gulped. "I sold myself. I lost my purity to a drunken man. He was a sailor, he didn't even bother to learn my name. I was paid extra because it was my first time. But you know what?" A little sob escaped her lips. "I would've starved on the streets if I had known that you were in my future- I would rather have stayed pure for you."

"It's okay." Will soothed. "Shhh... go on." He really was interested now.

"Well," She resumed. "I just... kept on doing that. I was one of the lucky ones, though. I never got attacked, never got taken against my will. Men didn't seem to want to make love to a scrawny little blonde harlot. I was lucky to get customers at all. Then, when I was seventeen I met a man, he was a barkeep, he owned a place called the Tuna Shack. Bill was his name. He took me in, he was like what I imagined a father would be like." She paused. "You know, come to think of it, he had a son. Said he was in England, or somewhere far-off. Lost his son, he did. Lost him when he went sailing. Never really said much about his past. But then, neither did I."

"What happened?" Will asked, burying his nose in her fine blonde hair, inhaling her bittersweet musk.

"He died." She said reverently. "In his will, he left everything to me. Never found his son, Bill didn't. Poor Man. But I was given a new start. So, I stopped selling myself. I hired another girl, Danielle, and we both worked our way out of that godforsaken occupation. And then one day you walked in, with Jack and Morgan, do you remember?" He nodded. "I knew- right then, I knew you would be different. You were the only person who ever said 'thank you' when I gave him a drink. And you were the only one who ever tried to help me clean up a spill, do you know that?" She didn't wait for a response. "That was so... amazing. I knew I had to go with you. I thought that maybe you could lead me to other people like you. And, you know what I discovered? That there is nobody else like you."

Aletté took a long, pensive pause. She felt Will's breath blowing in her ear and smiled placidly. "Do you still want to marry me?"

Will laughed. He couldn't help it. The question seemed so superfluous. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Aletté pressed herself close to him. "I still wish you'd stop respecting me and just make love to me the way I want you to." There was a hint of laughter in her voice.

"Are you sure you want to marry me?" Will joked. "I mean, I'm not as experienced as Jack. Maybe you should go ask him to make love to you. I'm sure he'd be happy to oblige."

Aletté giggled, then stopped and turned from happy to almost wistful. "You know, I've never made love to any man who wasn't paying me?" Her fingers took his hands and brought them to rest on her breasts again. "It would mean so much if you would just-"

"No." He pulled his hands away, shifting so that he could face her. His hands then moved to her jaw-line. He cupped her face lovingly. "You are pure, Aletté. You just said so. That... that part of your past, that was only a job. You're pure, you are."

"Stop saying that!" She pulled away. Her voice was racked with pent-up sorrow. "Stop telling me these things- stop making me believe I'm someone that I know I'm not!" She brushed a few tears out of her eyes. "You say I'm beautiful, Will, and the way you say it, I almost believe you."

"But you are beautiful!" He interjected.

"No!" She sprung to her feet. "No, I'm not! I'm just a scrawny, silly, insignificant little ingenue with no 'Spanish figure' and no 'poise'! Stop telling me otherwise!"

"Aletté," He stood up. "You've been listening to the cruelest face of the world your whole life- why don't you start listening to someone who loves you?!"

"Because," She whimpered as his arms slid around her waist. "Because I'm afraid of falling off the pedestal you put me on. I'm afraid of you one day finding out that I'm not some beautiful, angelic princess that you say I am- that one day you'll wake up and see what the rest of the world sees- a miserable little failure, a coward, and ugly, bony, impure starveling!"

"Hush." He blew in her ear and smiled at her. "When I say I love you, I mean you. Here. Now. You standing in front of me. You who spills hot tea on me and smacks me in the nose with the door." She laughed. "I don't care about anything else, Aletté. Stop trying to be who the world wants you to be- I know who you are. This is who you are. You don't have to be all those things you just said." His lips brushed over her cheek. "Just be you."

She hesitated a moment. "You still want to marry me?"

He nodded. "I do."

Her hands made their way around his neck. "King Rico wants to have a big party. He keeps telling me that Kathrynna loves parties, and I have to remind him that I'm not my mother." She laughed a little. "What do you say?"

"Me?" Will's face lit up. "I say we throw a huge party! Dancing, music... rum. We wont get any pirates without rum."

Aletté giggled. "I cant dance very well."

"Let's see." He took her hands and spun her around. "Looks fine to me..." His eyes paused on her slim, twirling figure. "...looks perfect. Absolutely perfect."

Aletté rolled her eyes. "Don't say that."

"Why not?"

"You're lying."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not!"

"Are to- argh!"

Will tackled her, pinning her down on the ground. Aletté tried to protest, but her objections were swallowed up by laughter as his hands proceeded to tickle her beyond breathing. She mustered her strength and managed to roll him off of her, only ending up in the reverse position, Aletté on top, straddling Will.

And, of course, poor Ella returning for the tea tray, flustered -to say the least- at the sight before her.


	3. Ch3

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Chapter Three: Continental Fashions

Aletté fidgeted awkwardly, holding her arms out on either side of her body as the dressmaker busily took her measurements, marking them down on a pearly white sheet of paper that was pinned to the wall. The state dinner and ball was tomorrow, and Aletté was adamant about finding a new dress, one which complimented her figure.

This was far from the norm for Aletté; usually she had to fend off new gowns of silk, taffeta, muslin, and organza that came as gifts from King Rico almost weekly. No other courtier was offered quite so much, and yet no other courtier had such a small wardrobe. Aletté's insistence upon a new gown was entirely due to the presence of Will at the coming ball.

She smiled to herself. Will had been overwhelmed by Rico's generous outpouring of waistcoats, breeches, belts, and shoes. He had been literally smothered by the maids' attention, all of whom had eyed him with a look that made Aletté very irate.

"Done." The dressmaker said cheerfully. "Now lets pick out a fabric, shall we?"

Aletté nodded and dropped her arms back down to her sides, grateful that the blood flow was now returning. The woman, so named Mariale as Aletté had gathered from snippets of conversation between the dresser and the scullery maids, was tall with wavy golden hair and all the true Spanish curves Aletté could possibly desire. Aletté watched as she produced from an armoire a stack of tinder boxes filled to the bursting with swatches of dressmaker's fabric.

"I think a pale yellow velvet would become you quite nicely." Mariale chirped, pulling out a clump of yellow and beige fabrics and rifling through them. She held out a shimmery crushed velvet square to Aletté. "How's this?"

"Well..." Aletté said timidly, "is it at all possible that I could wear... turquoise?"

"Turquoise?" Mariale gaped. "Um..." She thought hard. "Well, no courtier has ever worn turquoise to a ball before... I don't think I have any fabric in that colour."

"We could give it a dye bath." Aletté suggested hopefully.

"Well, I don't have any dye in that colour either." Mariale said, her loathing of said hue apparent in her voice, despite all efforts to conceal it.

Aletté smiled affectionately. "We could mix blue and green."

"I suppose..."

"Oh really?" Aletté beamed. "Thank you, Mariale, thank you!"

"Right..." Mariale smiled awkwardly and then turned her gaze back to the tinderbox. "So... crushed velvet, perhaps?"

"What about damask?" Aletté suggested, recalling how the dramatic fabric had always seemed to tumble so freely.

"Damask is made for somber colours, greys and blacks. What about satin?"

"Hmm..." Aletté pondered, fingering the white satin swatch that Mariale had just handed her. "I suppose satin would catch the light nicely."

"Decided, then, my lady?"

"Decided." Aletté agreed. "Turquoise satin."

There was a knock at the door.

"Who calls?" Mariale chirped vivaciously.

"Will Turner." Came a familiar but muffled voice.

The dressmaker turned pale. "The Lady is not yet decent, you'll have to wait." She called. Her attentions turned to Aletté. "The way they let men just wander through here nowadays... disgraceful, that's what it is." She grabbed a red chamber robe off of her dressmaker's doll and tossed it to Aletté, who, due to her need to be measured, was clothed only in her undergarments, though said articles were actually quite covering, not revealing by even the largest stretch of the imagination.

Aletté felt her heart flutter as she shrugged herself into the robe. His voice made her vision blur with excitement, a wonderful, sweet intoxication. "You can come in now, Will." She called in a sing-song voice, though her own singing voice had not been put to use since earning her money in the bars of Singapore.

The door opened and said visitor made his way in. Aletté giggled. Will really was a sight. His normally drab attire had been replaced with the flashy continental fashions that the Lords of the court had fallen in love with, breeches of shimmering black and waistcoats in rich reds and royal blues. Will himself was clothed in black and a dark grey-blue.

He blushed. "Look's pretty bad, doesn't it?"

"Awful." Aletté teased, sliding into his warm embrace, a smile glowing on her face. "And don't you complain- you're the one who wanted to go to this stupid state dinner."

"I wonder what Jack will be wearing." Will mused, toying haphazardly with her flat blonde hair.

"That would be a sight." Aletté said.

"And you?" He prompted. "What of the most lovely courtier in Spain?"

"Ah, but no!" Aletté smiled. "That would be a state secret."

He laughed and scooped her up into his arms, the same way a groom carries his bride across the threshold of their new home. Mariale looked mortified, but Aletté quickly dismissed her, saying that they would choose the pattern later. The dressmaker left, and Will let Aletté's feet reconnect themselves with the floor.

"Rico's quite a generous man." Will commented.

"I hope he doesn't smother you." Aletté teased. "Although, I'd be more worried about the servant girls stealing you away."

"You should see Jack." Will laughed. "He's in euphoria."

"Come again?"

"Cant take two steps without running into a maid wanting to be taken to his bed." He laughed. "Must be hard for him."

"How's that?"

"Trying to stay true to Morgan."

"Ah." Aletté smiled.

"Now," He took her hands in his. "You said you needed to practice your dancing?"

"Oh no!" Aletté protested. "No! No! I'm not dancing at this thing!"

"Why not, it's a ball."

"I have two left feet." She said, trying to pull herself out of his tender grasp.

"Oh really?" He asked. She nodded. "Let me check." He stooped down and ran his hands over her ankles lovingly. "Well now who's the liar?"

"Will!"

"What?"

"Don't!" She shook her right foot out of his grasp, accidentally throwing off het balance. She tumbled backwards onto the table, her left knee inadvertently kicking (if that would be the right synonym for kneeing) poor Will in the groin as she did so. The next minute, both lovers spent crumpled over on the floor, pain preventing any kind of speech from passing between them.

"Sorry." Will gasped finally.

Aletté sat up, her hands massaging her aching back, since that was the part of her skinny form that had smacked the hard marble floor first. "No, I'm sorry."

Will stumbled to his feet and rushed over to attend to Aletté. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. You?"

Will gulped. "Nothing time wont heal."

She sighed. "I'm so sorry, Will. I've been nothing but bad luck for you."

He smiled and shook his head in wonderment. "Meeting you was nothing but good luck."

"Meeting me, yes." Aletté said. "Living with me, no."

Will laughed and scooped her up in his arms. "I could think of no more rapturous an Elysium." He kissed her nose lightly. "I would rather live one day with you than spend eternity with all the graces of the world, and no Aletté in sight."

Aletté just shook her head. "You're hopeless."

"And you're beautiful."

"Oh shut up!" She kissed him playfully. "Put me down if you know what's good for you." There was nothing malicious or even, well, threatening about this threat. He laid her down upon the ground and planted another kiss upon her nose.

"Now," Will said quietly, "go help your dressmaker with that gown you were working on."

Aletté couldn't help but bask in the glow of the way he looked at her. "The one you said will make me the most beautiful courtier in Spain?"

"Did I say that?" She nodded. "Well, that cant be right!"

"Oh is that so?" Aletté grinned. "And whoever not? Because I was right- I _am _a skinny little starveling with no figure!"

"No." Will said. "Because you're already the most beautiful woman in the world."

Big apologies to all my readers- I'm sorry to keep you waiting so long, but my life is getting hectic with school and all that. I know that's not really an excuse, but please be nice and review anyway. Sorry again.

-SQ


	4. Ch4

The State dinner and ball was a dull, uneventful affair. Besides Aletté being the most beautiful woman there, (and consequently making a large number of new female enemies) besides Jack managing to stay sober despite the open bar, besides Will having to very literally fend off serving amorous maids left, right, and centre, besides said things, Aletté had been right- the whole event was all-in-all a royal bore.

The next morning the court rose late after dawn, a side-effect of their late-up previous night. King Rico made his way to Aletté's chambers, and there they sat, hammering out all the most minuscule, tedious details that the Turner-Malycho wedding would contain. Will was not a part of this process- as far as Rico was concerned, this was his dear Aletté's wedding, and thus all decisions (or most, anyway) were hers to make.

Aletté felt herself begin to droop around midday, when the heat of the noon sun baked the tiny little village on the Spanish coast. She longed to kick off the shackles that was her tight-fitting bodice (though women in Spain were taken to refusing corsets) and plunge her sweaty self into the cool South Atlantic in only a shift.

Rico noticed his protégé's weariness, and smiled to himself. He was not quite as daft as the court thought, that Rico.

"My dear child," Rico said kindly. "You look as if you're about to faint. Perhaps you are coming down with something?"

Aletté nodded uncomfortable. "I feel a little dizzy." She said. And not lying, either.

"Must be the excitement of planning the festivities." He commented. "Very well, we'll resume tomorrow. Be sure to catch your rest, dear Aletté. Remember, the wedding is only three weeks hence."

Aletté nodded and strode gracefully from the room, breaking into a run as she reached the hallway. She felt almost smothered; smothered by the dress, smothered by the plans, by the heat, the court, the gossip and festivities.

But she was a lucky girl, that Aletté. It just so happened that the one thing which always let her breathe came running right into her. She fell backwards and skidded across the floor. Scooping her hair out of her face, she raised her eyes to the man she had just run in to.

"Will!"

He smiled. "Aletté." Will jumped to his feet, grabbing her by the arm and leading her off into a smaller passageway discretely. "Stay quiet for a moment, would you, sweetheart?"

Aletté felt her insides flutter as he called her that. "Okay." She waited. A few moments later, a gaggle of moony-eyed courtiers came busting through the hall they had just vacated. As they passed, Aletté noticed Will relax a little. "What was that all about?"

"These courtiers!" Will muttered. "I swear, Aletté, their the living dead!" She laughed. "Really! They just seem so-"

"It's because you're a foreigner and an adventurer." Aletté explained. "And you're handsome. It drives the Spanish girls nuts. Besides that, they know you're taken. Like the forbidden fruit."

He kissed her lightly. "We have to get out of here."

"And we will..." She paused. "This wedding, Will, Rico has so many plans, it's almost crippling. I don't know how I'll cope..."

"You'll survive." Their lips met again. "You're a fighter."

She let her eyes linger on his for a long moment. Finally, a smile crept across her face. "You want to go swimming?"

"What- now?"

"Sure." Her eyes danced mischievously. "There's a beach not too far."

Will stared at her. "I don't have any clothes for swimming!"

"You can wear breeches." She dismissed.

"And you?"

"I can swim in my shift."

He laughed. "Would that the entirely proper- a courtier of Spain allowing some common foreigner seeing her in her underclothes?" He gasped falsely. "Why, I might end up seeing your ankles!"

Aletté laughed. "Come on." She grabbed him by the arm, and they headed out of the stifling stone building, slipping past the guards with an expert knowledge characteristic of their past adventures together. The streets of Sierrbo were empty and deserted, most of the townsfolk opting to siesta rather than brave the heat of the day. The pair reached a rocky little bay with something barely fitting the definition of beach, being that it was both severely lacking in both sunshine and sand.

But these this aside, it was private.

Aletté slipped out of her dress, leaving it in a crumpled, untidy heap on the ground. She took a few cool, cleansing breaths, now free in only her shift, before turning to face Will. Her jaw dropped.

Apart from removing his shoes and belt, he was also now free of his waistcoat and blouse. She had to muster all her strength just to pry her hungry eyes away from his chest. Will was wrestling with much the same problem, gaze fixed on her slim body, more revealed through the shift.

The nature of such a garment is not really revealing in truth, but the hips of a shift as opposed to the hips of a full-skirted gown of panniers are much more form-fitting.

And so they swam, Will and Aletté, Aletté and Will, lovers of each other, of life, living the sweet water steps that lovers were made to dance.


	5. Ch5

I've been working on this chapter for the last few weeks, and I know, it's very short, but I've been very busy. Busier than ever before, actually. So I'm posting it at a cut-off point- it was meant to be longer, but I suppose I really should just post what I have and update later.

For all readers of The Keener: Kit and Jack will be back soon- they might take a few days more because drama has become the ruthless dictator of my every waking minute!

Oh, BTW, our play Zephyr and it's cast won three awards at the Sears Festival- Best Ensemble, Best Original Song, and Best Actress. Anyway, thanks for your patience, love you all to bits,

-SQ

Over the next two weeks, Aletté and Will found themselves caught in the updraft of a wedding air-front. Indeed, it seemed to Aletté that many nights, by the time her head finally laid itself down upon her pillow, her breath would be coming so thinly and raspily that she barely had a moment to enjoy the silence before her eyes drooped shut and opened again to a full chamber flooded with daylight. The energetic hum of maidservant's chatter buzzed about her ears as if her poor blonde head was perpetually caught in a hornet's nest.

The same, or similar, could be said for poor Will. He was growing accustomed to the erogenous glances he was constantly fending off from a particular young courtier, Lady Corelina, who requested of Will (and only Will) that he simply call her Cori. It was Cori and Cori alone who intrigued Will- she seemed, unlike the others, to have a little more wit, a little more brains, and a little less gossip filling her head and spewing from her rosy painted mouth. This was not to suggest in the least that our dear Will felt the slightest bit of attraction to her; on the contrary, when compared with Aletté, Cori seemed rather repulsive. And as always, the image of Aletté was constantly entrained in his mind's eye, so that any lady he met was immediately compared to she, the goddess in his thoughts, and immediately dismissed as little more than an acquaintance, or on the rare occasion, a friend.

But something about Cori made Will look twice- in a purely platonic manner, you understand. She was, like the other ladies, perpetually masked in a thick veil of rouge, powders, and paints. Her eyes were smudged from lid to lid with ebony charcoal, her straight black hair interwoven with strands of pearls. She was just like the others... but different. He tried to put his finger on it- she was almost... needy. Was that it? No. Not quite. But definitely different.

Almost as though he felt bad rejecting her advances, this being, must it be explained, a pure instinct of empathy, of not wanting to hurt another human being. Especially one as remarkable as Cori, though the source of her bewitching qualities was a mystery to poor Will.

With one week until the wedding day, and Aletté spending the day in perpetual hemming and tucking for her gigantic mass of white fabric she called her dress, Will was free to lounge the gardens outside his temporary apartments, trying to bight off the heat by sitting under an ancient spreading oak that sat at a cool, mossy corner of the yard. He lay down on the damp, pungent turf and closed his eyes peacefully.

"You shouldn't lie on the ground, Lord Turner." The voice was strange- ringing, playful, mocking, breathy... was there no word to express the way it fell like a bead of rain into a drainpipe puddle? "The fire ants will be over you like the ladies of the court."

He sat up and glanced at her. She was buried in another one of her enormous emerald satin gowns, her eyes painted to match her hair, her true skin tone indecipherable underneath what was at least five layers of ivory-toned powder. Her while gloved hand clutched at the handle of a lacy parasol, fingers resting lightly on the inlaid mother-of-pearl that graced its grasp. Her painted lips drew themselves into a smile that rang out somehow from beneath the mask of false beauty.

"Fire ants?" Will asked, stumbling to his feet.

A girlish laugh escaped her lips, the sort of laugh one would expect to hear from a child of five or so years. Immediately she covered her mouth lowered her eyes, stifling the laughter as if it were a crime to human ears. She cleared her throat. "Yes, fire ants. Dreadful things, Lord Turner. Give you an awful rash."

He nodded. "Thanks, I'll try to remember that."

Cori peered at him with another of her erotic, sideways glances and asked suddenly, "Where's Lady Malycho?"

"Aletté?" He still wasn't used to hearing her addressed by her formal title. "She's being fitted for her dress. It's taken three days and still not done."

"King Rico's spending more on this wedding than he's spent on the entire palace." She remarked, and Will wondered if he heard a note of bitterness in her breathy, sing-song voice. "When he married me off to that hideous old bat from Vienna he didn't pay a cent and I didn't get a choice at all." Definitely bitterness. "Put my family in awful debt, that did, and the old man died six months later."

"Oh." Will wasn't sure how to respond.

"Didn't stop Rico, though, oh no!" She went on as though Will wasn't there at all. "Married me again, he did! Four times, and none lasting longer than eight months."

"Oh." He said again. "They all died?"

"All except my last husband- he divorced me. Bloody Englishmen, he was. And just because I married the bastard doesn't mean I'll go to bed with him, no sir, I'll choose that for myself. But no, he thinks that's blasphemy. I'll show him blasphemy! The bastard, he said I-" Again her hand clapped over her mouth, and Will swore he could see colour rising in her powdered cheeks. "Oh, please don't tell them I said that."

Will nodded. "No problem." Though he was not quite sure who 'they' were exactly, he was sure this conversation would count for practically nothing in the grand political spectrum.

"Besides that-" Cori continued fearlessly. "-this wedding is completely off-the-top. Superfluous, if you ask me." Will began to wonder if she even knew he was the groom. "And Lady Malycho- Lord, what a beauty! At the ball she made us all look like little girls in party dresses- imagine what she'll look like in a wedding gown!"

"She is something." Will remarked quietly.

He noticed Cori's gloved fingers nervously picking at the inlaid mother-of-pearl on the handle of her parasol. "Then there's you- did you know every woman in the court's been swooning over you? Even the married ones?"

She said it so cheerfully, so bluntly. Will was taken aback by her forward manner. "Well, I-"

"Who's that pretty gentleman from over the sea that you brought with you?"

"Who, Jack?" This conversation was darting this way and that so fast it was hard for Will to keep tabs on their topic. "He's from the Caribbean."

"He's quite a pretty man, he is. His eyes are very intoxicating."

Will snickered. "So is his rum."

Again the girlish laugh, and again she stifled it as quickly as it had come. Cori cleared her throat and continued. "You're quite a fine-looking man yourself, Lord Turner. Your eyes are very dark."

Will looked at his shoes. He had grown accustomed to being pointed at and whispered about, but Cori's manner was noting short of embarrassing. "You're... quite pretty yourself." Was all he could manage to shift the spotlight over a little.

Cori seemed absolutely delighted. She spun around on her heel like a five-year-old and then paused to gaze at Will a moment, leaning flirtatious on her parasol. "I think I should go." And she turned and flounced out of the garden, only stopping at the wrought-iron gates to the palace, within perfect earshot of poor, embarrassed Will to remark in a very sprightly manner, "You know, Lord Turner, I think I might be a bit swoony over you."

He blinked once and she was gone.


	6. Ch6

Will could hear nothing but the sounds of his own boots clattering rhythmically on the cold marble floors as he paced down the hallways, on his way to meet Aletté. Her fitting was supposed to be done with by now, her final fitting, she had said. He missed her. Funny that they could be living not ten feet between their bedrooms and he missed her.

A child-like giggle drifted out from one of the alcoves in the hall and met Will's eyes.

Cori.

"Lord Turner, you've left your boot untied." She emerged from the shadows, this time clad in a dress so heavily laden in jewels that the original cloth colour was completely done away with. She reached out a skinny hand and grasped the fabric of his shirt. "You have a hole in your sleeve, sir. I should mend it for you."

Will pulled back. "Uh… good afternoon?" He tried hopefully.

"And no it has not been one until you found me in this hallway, or was it I who found you? But no matter, it is one now." She dropped a small curtsy.

"Is one what?" She spoke too quickly for Will to understand, his broken Spanish being what it was.

"A good afternoon, or did you not say that?" She linked her arm with his and began to walk down the hallway beside him. "And did you hear of my news, or were you busy?"

"No." Will smiled amicably now. "What news?"

Cori's smile vanished. "I am to marry again, Lord Turner, does that please?"

He frowned. "I suppose…"

"But do you know, I am to marry an Englishman like you!" She laughed. "And where does he live, would you think?"

"England?" Will tried feebly.

"That Caribbean you speak about."

He smiled, suddenly happy for her. "You'll love it there. It has everything you could possibly want, Lady Corelina."

Her face lit up. "Oh, you know my name! Do call me Corelina, now, I like it, how you say it, or do you?"

"Like what?" Will was lost again.

"My name."

"Oh. Well yes, I do like it."

She laughed. "Then so do I." Her face then darkened. "But I do not think the Caribbean can give me everything I want."

"Oh." Will nodded slowly. "Well, I only hope you'll be just a little bit happier."

"But you know, Lord Turner, you look sad. I would I could easily make you glad." Her eyes met his with an erotic kind of glint to them. "Would you wish it, that is."

"What?" Will was sure his Spanish had gotten worse. "What does that mean?"

"Ah!" She cried. "Speak kinder to me!"

"Well, what is it that you mean?"

Cori glanced around, then pulled Will by the arm into another alcove, one sheltered from view by a large tapestry. She backed herself against the wall. "Nobody can see me in here. Nobody to tell you, and I know you are a man. Men want things, Lord Turner."

"By God," He pleaded, "speak _plainly_!"

Cori's eyes met his seriously. "Aletté need never knew."

Will understood now. He turned and left the alcove without a word.

Cori crumpled on the floor and cried.


	7. Ch7

Will glanced at his smiling bride through the heavy lace of her veil. She winked at him coyly, nodding with a roll of her eyes towards the priest who was now droning on in a perpetual hum of biblical Latin. Will smiled back. Even in silence, Aletté's salty sense of humour was as loud as anything.

The congregation rose again and began reciting the Lord's Prayer, yet still in this indistinguishable Latin. Will had a knack for languages, but being emerged in Spanish one moment and Latin the next was far too much.

"You think the old bag'll ever shut his trap?" Aletté murmured, eyes fixed inconspicuously on the altar.

Will rolled his eyes. "God can hear you, no matter how quiet you whisper." He muttered.

He saw her smile from the corner of his vision. "Then why does this priest have to be so bloody loud?"

Thankfully, the couple were seated just far enough away so that the congregation could not hear their snickers. Distance did not save them, however, from a scathing glance coming from a starch-faced nun seated in the choir loft.

From far back in the crowd, Cori squirmed in her seat next to her soon-to-be husband. She craned her neck as far as it would go, scanning over the sea of bald heads and elaborate hairdos for a glimpse of her dear Will.

A lump formed in her throat. _He was never mine to lose._

She bit her lip to keep it from trembling, but it did not obey. Her teeth sunk deeper into the already raw flesh, been made so by constant chewing in previous hopes it would make them red. A tear rolled down her cheek, and even she could not tell whether it was from her sadness, or from her pain.

The Englishman's hand covered hers. It was clammy and coarse. She shuddered.

"Hold still." He commanded in a harsh and threatening whisper.

Cori continued to squirm.

"Hold still!" He repeated.

She summoned all her guts and tried with so much effort to keep still. Her fingers itched from the sweaty hand draped over hers. Her breasts ached from being bound up in such a tight bodice. Her lip quivered. Her foot began to tap impatiently.

How long did this ceremony last?

"Hold still, harlot."

And suddenly something in Cori snapped.

She wrenched her hand away from that of the Englishman, springing to her feet noisily and storming from the ornate arches of the cathedral. She ran towards the river, all the while knowing that she would be disclaimed the moment she showed her face again.

Right now the Englishman was probably coming up with some cock-and-bull story to feed to the church about how she was a very fragile person and that he had no part in this breakdown. But it didn't matter; Cori ran.

Away.

Away from the gossips, away from the rumours, away from the nickname, 'the Black Widow', away from Will and his not-so-innocent or blushing bride, away from corsets, bodices, rogue, powder, charcoal-lined eyes, hypocrisy and ceremony.

Away.

Into the river, under the waters, her hair fell loose from its pomade. Her rogue washed away, as did her powder, the paint around her eyes. She tore off the tight bodice, leaving nothing but a creamy blue shift on. She plunged again beneath the waves.

Society had made Cori break beneath its pressure, and now she was free.

But back at the church…?

Constructive Crit always welcome!


	8. Ch8

The stuffy ceremony at the church ended within a few minutes of Cori's strange departure, but it still felt like all of ninety-nine eternities to the poor bride and groom. The reception, however, was another story entirely.

This being a ball, an open bar, a feast, and plenty of young, unmarried girls parading around in their livery, Jack was over the moon- and then some. Will, however, was perfectly content every which way to spend the entire evening mooning over his new bride.

To him, their love seemed still unreal, like it was some sweet, taunting dream that might end any moment, and he swore upon his life he'd rather die than wake. But Aletté held a different sort of joy- true, her heart was almost filled to the bursting with love, but also with a sort of triumph. A spiteful kind of triumph over the world around her, the knowledge that her life had gone from hell to heaven, and nothing had made her cave.

Well, almost nothing.

Will might have hurt her, but it was out of duty- or was it love? No. Perhaps simply law and morality- how dull life must be, the simple compliance with law and morality, not a thought to the divine happiness one person can give another! The heroes of her life story, she reflected, were all those who opposed that- either law, morality, duty, or perhaps all three. She, Aletté, had done so with morality. Will had broken the bonds of duty, Morgan, who had abandoned her home, and Cori also, had jumped from the towering fortress of law.

And then, she giggled at the thought, there was Jack, who had abandoned all three.

"Crowded in here, isn't it?" Will whispered in her ear, his breath sending hot shivers down her neck. "Think maybe we should slip away?"

Aletté felt his hand lock with hers. "What do you mean?" She whispered back.

Her question was answered by a skilful hand slinking up her spine and toying with the clasp to her dress. Aletté shivered. "Coming?"

Her skin erupted in heat, and Aletté could have sword every person in the palace could hear her heart beating in her ears. Will sprang to his feet and made for the door, pulling his bride by her hand behind him.

"Lady Aletté!" King Rico called out. "Our Lord and Lady, leaving so soon?"

The couple froze in their tracks, trying desperately to come up with an excuse for leaving their own wedding reception. From the back of the hall, Jack motioned to Will, understanding the reason for their departure without needing explanation. He smiled and nodded to his friends, only to happy to oblige a decoy.

"My dear people!" Jack called from the flanks of the crowd. "Would it be at all possible for any reasonably intoxicated lady to follow me back to the beach and take a little… walk?" He winked, then hiccoughed, and Aletté was sure the latter action had been genuine.

The crowd around them gasped in horror and disgust. Will, seizing this 'opportune moment', pulled his bride out through the doorway and into the hall. Stealthily, they slunk down the corridor to Aletté's apartment.

Aletté had been expecting that Will would be following her lead here on in, he seeming so gentle, she being an ex-whore. But, like many times before, she was mistaken. Thrown to the bed rather roughly, Aletté barely had time to think before she realized her dress was already being pulled down about her shoulders. Will's lips were mercilessly sucking the skin between her throat and breasts.

She moaned blissfully.

Will positioned his head up atop of hers. He stroked her fine blonde hair sentimentally. "You are the strangest sort of ecstasy." He murmured, more to himself than to her.

Aletté smiled, swallowing an emotional lump in her throat. "There never was a time I didn't love you." She smiled painfully, memories of the past jabbing at old wounds. "Before I knew you, before I breathed my first breath, before my birth, when I wasn't half alive, when I was nothing but a soul, I loved you. All my life I've loved you." His lips brushed with hers briefly. "I found you, and you weren't mine, but I've always loved you. There never was a time-"

His callous fingers stayed her words. "I cant tell you that I feel the same way, Aletté." She sat up, propped up on her elbows.

"What do you feel?"

"It's not that I can live happily with you- that's what I had with Elizabeth. It's just that… I _cant _live happily _without _you."

Bride and groom smiled at each other lovingly.

"Kiss me, William Turner."

He complied with a soft butterfly kiss on her nose. Aletté felt herself melt in his embrace.

_There never was a time I didn't love you._

-Fin


End file.
